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Yesterday morning, after almost five days without power, I was overjoyed to see the lights back on in my house. As the fridge hummed in the background, I went room to room, practically spinning my arms Maria von Trapp style, marveling at the way a simple flick of a switch could change the world.

And yet.

Though it was rumored that we were experiencing extreme weather this past week, the truth was that on the coast, nature was pretty calm. A bit more wind at times, perhaps, but perhaps also more sunshine. Mainly the weather was fine; fine in that it was something to be admired and adored, not something at all to be taken for granted. It was strange to be in a blackout, when the world was so beautiful.

I found myself thus pulled to the sunshine, the light that was abundant and available for so many hours each day, over and over again. How is it possible that we have the miracle of energy, the magic created in a sunrise? I’d lay in bed in the dark, burrowing ever further, as I waited for the room to brighten, for my furniture and my family to take shape, for the day to begin anew. And once the day really started, I’d head outside: to the trails, the ocean, the streets where I could smile at my neighbors as they passed by.

I took few pictures, for it turns out that in a power outage, certain things fall by the wayside. But it doesn’t matter. I took note, instead, of what was important, so that by the time the lights were turned back on, my world was brighter than it had been before.

Warmed to my core, I basked in that knowledge as I ran through the house, plugging things in, planning my first hot shower at home in days, and exclaiming with joy at the wonder at it all.

 

 

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